The library in my hometown was in a grand Greek revival style building. You could climb the front stairs and go in the main entrance, or you could go around the back, through the parking lot, down a few stairs, and enter directly into the Children’s Library through a door painted with a scene from Winnie the Pooh’s Hundred Acre Woods.

The children’s section of the library is still a magical place, even though I am four decades removed from qualifying as its target audience. My hometown children’s library not only loaned books, but also puppets, toys, music, puzzles, games, and art. I remember a particularly exciting time when I got to borrow a glorious cardboard hanging mural of the Emerald City for two whole weeks.

I was an early reader (my mother loves to tell people how I learned by memorizing “Bread and Jam for Francis” word-for-word), and reading programs at the library were one of my favorite things to participate in each summer. I wasn’t sporty or competitive, but I would diligently fill up my reading log like it was my job, and collect my pledges from my unsuspecting, but very supportive, family members. Perhaps this is also where my love of lists came from.

My first high school job was in that library as a “Page” (I always enjoyed that title). Several of my friends also worked there, and there was nothing more exciting than finding out I’d been scheduled for the same Saturday shift with my bestie in the children’s department. Also, because this was the late 80s, all the cute skater boys hung out around outside, grinding rails and (occasionally) landing ollies.

Visiting the library became a once or twice a week ritual in my twenties when I didn’t have the funds to buys books (Or CDs. Or movies). I became a 9 a.m. patron: as soon as the doors opened, I would hustle to the “Lucky Day” section, hoping to score the latest releases. I was also working a part-time job at this point at Barnes & Noble, so I would keep a list of interesting books recommended by patrons or skimmed while shelving (I was a good, but not always fast, worker) and take my lists to the library, plugging my name into the system until I reached the maximum number of holds allowed.

In my thirties, libraries were a favorite pastime with my children. Our library in south Denver had not only an extensive children’s section, but also sat on a piece of land that housed a playground, a man-made creek perfect for wading, a splashpad, and a bandshell. Many summer days were spent rotating through the stations: outside to play, inside for story time when the sun got too hot, then back outside to burn off any remaining energy before nap- or bedtime. And of course, we all participated in the Summer Reading Program.

Like many others, I fell out of the habit of borrowing physical books in 2020, and I now read almost exclusively on my Kindle, but I do still borrow all my ebooks from the library system.  Trips to the library are reserved primarily for work (I’m sitting at a table in the adult section of the library right now), when I need to concentrate without the temptation to stop and watch the latest episode of whatever show I’m currently into, or the siren song of a chore that sounds easier than writing.

Someday, I’d like to go back to volunteering at the public library. I would love to be a story time volunteer – there is nothing more fun than sharing a great book with a group of wriggly, excited new readers.

The library is a massive part of my personal history, and I count it as one of my more successful parenting choices that I made it a part of my children’s upbringing as well. In a time when books are being banned at an alarming rate, and people are relying on social media for their personal connections, libraries remain wonderful, radical, inclusive venues for the sharing of thoughts and ideas, a community gathering place without entrance fees, and a testament to the resiliency of the human spirit.

National Library Week is April 23-29. Please plan to visit your library and check out all the wonderful programs and resources housed within. Let’s celebrate the beating heart of any community: the public library.